“Why did you tell me the GPS tracker was removed?” She gave him her back and grabbed the shampoo. “You could’ve let me go on thinking I had help coming.”
His footsteps squeaked on the wet floor, closing in. She held her breath.
“The sooner you accept your future with me,” he said, his mouth at her ear, “the easier this will be for you. Turn around.”
She inwardly growled, shaking with the impulse to tell him what he could do with his orders. But she needed to pick her battles.
If she turned around, though, her brain would get all scrambled under the force of his eyes. And his cock, good God, it would be standing proud and right there between them.
Just don’t look at it.
With a tight throat, she pivoted to face him.
CHAPTER 11
Warm water rained down from the array of shower heads, heating Camila’s skin. Or was it anxiety making her hot and itchy? Keeping her focus above Matias’ waist as she angled her face out of the spray, her gaze landed on another tattoo.
At first glance, it looked like black veins forking over his shoulder. She felt him watching her as he turned to the side, allowing her to see the full image.
The outline of a tree trunk etched across his upper back and spread into leafless branches. The piece was twice the size of her hand and crawled over his shoulder. An orange tree. She’d recognize the rounded, symmetrical shape anywhere.
A closer inspection revealed two images in one, an optical illusion of limbs curving into the figure of a woman with hourglass hips and flowing black hair. Branches formed her slender neck, the bends of her arms behind her, the dip of her waist, all of which stemmed from the V at the apex of her thighs. It was eerily beautiful, unique, and really fucking sexy.
But an orange tree? A woman with long, black hair? Surely, it wasn’t…
“Me?” She looked up and froze in the prison of his eyes.
He gave a terse nod, lifted the shampoo from her hand, and stepped behind her.
She stared at her toes in the swirl of water. He’d tattooed an image of her on his body.
That should’ve ignited her with outrage and confusion and sparked all kinds of questions. But dammit, her nerves were frayed, her body too tired to care. Way too tired to stop him from washing her hair, making her sigh with his distracting fingers, and massaging her scalp as the scent of citrus and lavender wafted around her.
After all these years, she still knew the feel of his strong hands, the muscles that thickened his palms, and the surety of his grip. She’d known how his mouth tasted after a long day in the sun, the way he’d moaned when she kissed that spot beneath his ear, and the intensity of his eye contact as he’d chased his orgasm.
“Tell me his name.” He shifted around to her front, his hands lathered in soap.
“Who?”
“The one who took your virginity.” His voice was soft, at odds with the teeth-breaking set of his jaw.
“Um…” She blinked through the deluge of water. “Oscar.”
“Oscar?” He scowled, nostrils flaring. “That’s not a name. It’s processed meat.”
“It is a name.” She was pretty sure Oscar had been a manwhore, so maybe processed meat was more fitting.
“Did he make it good for you?” His tone was incisive, guttural.
“Two pumps and done.”
His entire demeanor darkened. She knew what he was thinking. It should’ve been him.
He lathered her body, his hands sluicing soapy water from her neck to her toes and everywhere between. Fingers curved around her breasts, stroking, molding. She twitched away and raised her head, her gaze entangling with the luminous gold of his eyes.
Her breathing shortened, and his touch slid lower, down her sides, around her waist, stopping to palm her ass and squeeze her flesh.
“Matias, don’t.” She gripped his wrists, tried to push him away.
It only made him clench harder, putting enough pressure against the muscles on her backside that pain twinged through her nerve endings. Weightless energy charged through her—an intense kind of energy that buzzed like an angry vibrator in her pussy.
Straightening her upper body, she flexed her thighs, trying to block out the sensations he stroked between them.
He seemed to be pondering dour thoughts because his caresses grew rougher and less controlled, making her cringe.
“When you escaped Van Quiso and called me…” He crouched before her, eyes on her cunt as he traced the seam with a warm, wet finger. “You were a virgin then.”
“Yeah.” A shiver trickled down her spine.
She was grateful to have left the attic with that one part of herself intact. At the same time, it became a burden she’d carried for months after. The label of innocence didn’t quite fit after what she’d been through with Van. It’d felt like she was holding on to her virginity because of the abuse she’d endured.
When Oscar propositioned her in a coffee shop six months after her captivity, she’d been more than ready to prove she wasn’t a fearful victim.
“You should’ve fucking told me how to find you.” Without warning, Matias shoved a finger inside her and used it like a hook to yank her closer.
She gasped. Trying to buck free, she smacked at his arm and kneed his chest, but couldn’t dislodge his finger. “I didn’t know you anymore.”
He’d been led from his home by armed men, and in the few phone conversations they’d had before her abduction, he’d acted so damn secretive and shady. He’d told her nothing, refused her questions, and hadn’t come back for her when she still lived in the grove.
“I didn’t trust you.” She twisted her hips away from his hand, going nowhere. “As it turns out, I have killer instincts.”
“You were wrong.” He launched to his full height and squeezed her neck as he added another finger inside her, thrusting them mercilessly and wrenching a whimper from her. “And you’re wrong now. I will never forgive
